


Any way at all

by Elijah_Dentwood



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Prostitution, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elijah_Dentwood/pseuds/Elijah_Dentwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Les Misersables.<br/>Castiel finds himself having to work the streets to get by. He's hungry and mistreated by the men he comes across, that is until Dean. Dean finds him and helps to nurse him back to health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any way at all

Cas has never had rules; they bite, pinch, bruise and twist. They make him bleed, scream, beg and want to die. He lets them because his hunger _hurts_ , and he's left it so long this time that he's zoning in and out of this.

Cas never had rules, except in his head. He won't look into their eyes, he won't sleep, he will never tell them his real name. He couldn't look into this guy's eyes if he tried – a dark-haired man around his own age, local business man – and he's supposed to be looking right up at him. The guy is buried in his ass, twisting his left nipple, calling him whore. He can't make himself focus. 

He's being turned onto his front. A slap across his ass. Cas winces, he's used to this but the guy is wearing a ring or something. Fingernails dig into his hips. He's being fucked again. 

'Do you like that, whore? Taking my dick? UH. So – fucking – uh.' Cas isn't listening, and it's the same old stuff.

Cas is still pulling on his clothes when the SMS comes through. _Meet me in 15 minutes? The usual place._ This guy is rich but demanding, and Cas is dizzy and so hungry he could be sick. Half an hour later Cas is on his knees in front of this guy; his shoes alone are worth more than Cas will see in a year. His tie could pay the rent for weeks. Somewhere he's got a wife, kids and a fucking mansion. Somewhere he has _staff_ and people who think he's respectable. Cas swallows around Rich Guy's cock and closes his eyes. 

In another half hour Cas is curled up on the floor. He swallows the blood pooling in his mouth because Rich Guy doesn't like spitting. His stomach clenches in interest at the blood, then gives a foul low growl, realizing the deception. In a while Rich Guy is gone. Everything hurts, from his bruised ribs to his over-stretched asshole and bleeding mouth. It doesn't matter, he's grasping the money in his fist and that's what counts. 

He doesn't want to go to the store like this, but he's so weak and hungry. He puts on every scrap of clothing he owns because outside it's cold and wet and the jut of his hipbones as he pulls on pants shows he can't stand up to the weather. He winces as the material slides over cuts and bruises. Doesn't matter. He'll have food soon, that's what counts. 

The woman at the store knows how he lives. She's seen him enough times; knees scraping on the floor as he sucks off some sailor in the alley behind the store. She throws the trash in the dumpster and leaves. She never calls the cops. She's never done him harm, but her gaze is harsh and her mouth is twisted in judgment as she rings up Cas' food. Once he might have cared, but now he just wants the food and her sour expression is the least of his concerns. The scent of the bread is almost making him drool. That's why he keeps coming here – the bread is freshly cooked and warm. 

He's barely out of the store before he's twisting off pieces of warm bread and shoving them into his mouth. He holds the bread in his mouth for as long as he can stand it, letting it expand in his spit before swallowing. He can't eat too fast and he can't eat it all now. Not doesn't want to be throwing this all back up, not if wants to eat tomorrow. 

Soon he's home and under a blanket, stomach sated for now. His cell phone is plugged into a socket beside him and the charger is pressed against his chest for the little heat it gives off. He can't stop shivering. Cas wants to go to sleep but he's too cold and too sore. He clings onto the charger and thinks about what he might do if he can get a little more money together. He needs to start putting some aside, he needs to stop eating hand-to-mouth. He dreams these things knowing that tomorrow he'll have lost the hope – it'll be back to getting enough food to stay alive. 

After a while his cell phone beeps the arrival of another message: _Come to the bar. New arrivals_. Castiel doesn't exactly have friends, but there are others in his situation. The message means another ship has come in. Usually they don't stop over long, and sailors will take what's nearest to the dock. They want to drink, fuck and get back on their ship as quickly as possible so they don't get their pay deducted. Despite the food Cas doesn't feel right; his skin is prickling with sweat, however much he shakes, and he's as dizzy as he was before the bread. 

He can hear the noise of the bar before he even sees the entrance. He carries on past the main door, round the back to where the bar spills into an open courtyard. Cas stands on the edge, working up to the usual patter. He's cleaned himself up best he could from Rich Guy. There's a sailor stood alone close by, smoking and gazing off into the distance. Cas thinks he'll start with the loners – he's not ready for a crowd. 

'Hello,' Cas says, smiling as though this sailor is the most attractive guy to ever walk the earth. He's not. Minutes later he's fucking Cas against a wall, shoving his face against the brick. He tries to brace himself so his face doesn't get too grazed – he can't say stop, he can't say _careful_. The sailor wouldn't care if he did, he'd probably just shove him harder. The sailor grunts and huffs until he's done, stuffs his dick back in his pants and shoves a few dollars in Cas' hand. It's not much, not for the grazes, not for the fact that he's now got to clean as much of the come out of his ass as he can for the next paying customer. 

He's not sure what it is, but he hardly remembers collecting the next one. He must have gone back over to the courtyard, because this guy seems like a sailor too. They're almost in the same spot as before where Cas' face was shoving against the wall. Three thick fingers are probing his mouth, dull fingernails scratching at the inside of his cheeks. He doesn't feel right at all. 

Cas wakes up with a scream and curls up to protect himself. There's a breathless man kneeling over him, cock in one hand, knife in the other. Cas is so cold, and he can feel a slick of blood against his chest. He doesn't care what they do to him, but he doesn't want to die. If he wanted to die he's had a thousand chances by now, but he'd rather keep up this life than finally give in. 

'What are you doing?' Cas gasps. 

'Carving a new hole,' the man says with a grin, tipping the knife so that Cas can see it better. 

'Hey!' Someone is shouting at them. Cas grasps for the floor, knowing he needs to try and get away. It's probably the cops, and maybe spending tonight in a cell wouldn't be so bad, but he can't afford to keep getting caught. He'll end up in jail. 

His fingernails are still grasping at the ground and he hasn't moved an inch. The guy with the knife is long gone. Somewhere above him someone is swearing.

'No cops,' Cas breathes, 'no cops.' 

'Are you sure man? You look...' the stranger doesn't finish his sentence and he doesn't need to. Cas shakes his head, or hopes that's what happens when he tries to move. 

'You need a hospital,' the stranger says, 'let me take you.' 

Cas tries to shake his head again. He wants to laugh. Does the stranger really think he can pay for a hospital? He lets out a noise but it sounds more like a sob even to his own ears. 

'My car is just around the corner. I'll take you in that. C'mon, I'll help you-' the stranger is touching him, doing something to his clothes. Cas can't bring himself to look, to flinch, or even to care. Maybe he's looking for money. You'd have to be pretty desperate to want to mug someone bruised and bleeding in an alley, but people were desperate these days. There were so few jobs, such little hope. The rich were thriving, but the normal people, well they were so poor that they were beginning to turn on the government. 

When Cas wakes up again he's laying in the back of a car. It's dark and there are no streetlights flickering on the inside of the vehicle. He turns his head to look at the front seat. He can just about make out the back of some guy's head, and when he concentrates he can hear music being played low up front. 

Someone has bundled a blanket over his body and removed his shoes. Cas closes his eyes again and slips into sleep. 

There are people arguing somewhere close by. It takes a few attempts to open his eyes properly, and when he does they're blurry. The air smells like menthol and alcohol. Cas lays still and tries to make out the voices. 

_I told you Sam, I checked him out.....Dean.....what if he's.....there's no one Sam_ He couldn't make sense of it. Instead he tried to work out his surroundings; he was sleeping on a bed, clothed, though he wasn't sure what in and the room was dark. 

Cas tried to clear his throat and winced; it was sore, as though he'd been shouting too much. He swallowed hard and decided to try and sit up instead. As he moved pain blossomed in his chest. He bit his lip and lowered himself back down carefully. 

To his left Cas glimpsed a light. It flickered as it moved into the room and turning his head towards it Cas saw that it was a man carrying a candle. 

'Mornin'' the man announced with a smile. He put the candle down near Cas' head. 'You're not in hospital. I couldn't find any ID, and well, I can't exactly turn up there myself...' 

'Who are you?' Cas managed to ask, his voice rough and low. 

'I'm Dean. We er – met a couple of nights ago,' Dean coughed and sat down on the edge of the bed, somewhere near Cas' knees. 

The memory hadn't escaped Cas, unfortunately. He remembered what had happened, and he remembered the arrival of a stranger. It seemed as though he'd lost a couple of nights though. 

'I couldn't take you to the ER,' Dean explained, 'so I brought you back here.' 

Just as he couldn't find it in himself to feel any shame at the position Dean had found him in, he couldn't muster up any feelings of gratitude either. Dean knew he had no money to repay him for his care, so that only meant one thing. 

'Okay,' Cas said. At least he was laying on something soft, and after putting in the effort to not let him die maybe Dean wouldn't be too rough with him. 

There was silence for a moment. Cas wished he'd just get on with it. 'How're you feeling?' Dean asked after a while. 

It was a stupid question. 'Doesn't matter,' Cas mumbled, tensing his jaw against the pain of pulling away the bed sheets and then pulling down the striped pajamas someone had dressed him in. He managed to turn onto his side so that his back was facing Dean. 

If he had been able to, Cas would have seen Dean's expression tighten in confusion and then loosen again in pity and horror as he realized what the gesture meant. 

Dean quickly pulled the sheets over Cas again and put a hand gently on his arm, 'No,' he said gruffly, 'I'm not gonna hurt you like that. And nor is anyone else, okay?' 

Cas didn't turn back. His expression didn't change either. Dean would change his mind, and others would always hurt him. He felt Dean's weight leave the bed and listened to his footsteps heading out of the room.  
'He needs us, Sam.' As he drifted back to sleep Cas wondered who Sam was. 

 

It's been a week since Cas offered himself to Dean. Dean still won't tell Cas outright what happened after he found him in the alley, but occasionally he overhears him talking with Sam. He knows he had a fever, he knows Dean cleaned up up and stitched his chest. He did a good job too – Cas can sit up now and he's taken a good look at the stitching across the jagged cuts. Dean says _it'll probably scar, but who doesn't have battle wounds?_

Sam turns out to be a great guy. When Cas was too sick to sit, he read to him, and now that he's well he brings up books. Cas hasn't read a book in years and he reads hungrily, waiting for Sam to come back so that they can discuss it and Sam can offering him something else to read.

Sam holds up his end of the conversation but when they're not talking Cas catches this look in his eyes, like he thinks Cas is going to break at any minute. Dean doesn't look at him that way – not since the day Cas offered himself up. It's as though Dean understands how Cas has survived, and doesn't see him as weak. 

Eventually Cas works up enough courage to ask, if he's better, why hasn't Dean turfed him out into the street yet? 

Dean places a hand over Cas' forehead, 'gotta watch for that infection,' he said off-handedly 'and you're not eating right yet.' 

Cas smiles. Every time Dean helps him change his clothes he touches Cas' ribs and teases him, telling him he'll start making skeletons feel fat. Even now as they talk there's soup and bread cooling beside the bed. The bread is smothered in a thick layer of butter, the bowl of soup chunky and full to the brim. Cas leaves every plate Dean offers him clean but it's never enough. 

Cas doesn't know how they're giving him all of this. This food isn't cheap, and Dean and Sam don't look well fed. 

'I can't remember the last time I ate so much,' Cas says. 

'You won't miss this then,' Dean grins, tearing off a bit of the bread and eating it happily. Cas has had to relearn this. It's been a long time since he's had friends, or at least since he's been around people who didn't want _something_ from him. He's easy in Dean's company now, but part of him is still waiting to learn what exactly Dean's after. 

It turns out Dean was right about the infection. The next day Cas is delirious as his temperature soars and Dean tries to keep him cool and fight it off. He forms patchy memories; Dean's worried face, a cool flannel against his forehead, a desperate whispered prayer somewhere nearby. 

The fever breaks after a day or two leaving Cas weak and sleepy. It doesn't seem as though Dean has left his side for days, though he hasn't seen Sam in a while. 

It's late afternoon and the light is fading from Cas' window. He turns to ask Dean for a candle and finds that he's fallen asleep on a chair at the side of the room. He's leaned back deeply in the chair, face relaxed as he sleeps peacefully. It feels like the biggest gesture of trust anyone has ever offered him. 

Cas watches Dean until he wakes with a small jolt, eyes flaring wide and alert. 'My name isn't Daniel, it's Castiel,' Cas says in a rush of words, so fast that Dean stares at him blankly. 'I said my name is Castiel,' he repeats, wanting to make sure Dean understands this. 

'Why'd you lie?' Dean asks, frowning. 

'I never....I never tell anyone my name, but I wanted you to have it.' Castiel looks down at his hands and Dean mulls it over. 

'Okay,' Dean says. Cas looks up and watches Dean settling himself on the chair. 'So...Castiel, that's french or something?' he asks. 

Cas sighs with relief that Dean isn't angry at him, 'No, it's actually a religious name. It's the name of an angel.' At this Cas gives an awkward smile because it's almost funny that he has the name of a pure, Godly creature and he's so...broken. 

'You believe in angels?' Dean asks. 

Cas tips his head in consideration. He'd like to say yes, but he's not sure he can confront the kind of questions that's going to raise in his mind. Instead he says, 'I don't know, do you, Dean?' 

'Never seen one,' he says matter of factly, as though this settles the whole thing. Cas smiles at Dean's certainty. 

'Want to try making it to the TV today?' Dean asks one morning. 

Cas' bruises are healed, he can move his limbs to help Dean change his clothes now, and he can sit up almost without pain. Dean has been feeding him as though it were his mission in life, so he's even a little more filled out than he was before. A different view sounds wonderful, and the idea of stretching his muscles is welcome. 

He nods and Dean rises from his chair, moving to help him stand. Cas slides his legs to the side of the bed so that he's sitting on the edge and Dean slides his arms through his. In a moment he'll be stood to his own height, able to move again, able to look after himself. His chest tightens as his mind floods with horrors; outside are cruel hands, twisted minds, and endless parade of hunger and suffering. He gasps for air. 

'It's okay, Cas. It's okay,' Dean lets his hands slide down as he's bent down in front of Cas, tipping up his chin 'look at me. You don't have to go anywhere, okay?' 

Cas pulled in a breath sharply and nods. He doesn't want Dean to see this. 'I'm sorry,' he manages to get out. 

Dean shakes his head, 'You do what you gotta do. Not gonna judge you for it.' Cas watched Dean looked down, and wondered what the other man did to survive, to cope with the world. 

They sit for a moment because Cas needs to get his breath back. 'Why are you wasting your time on me?' he blurts out, as soon as he can. Dean must have a life outside this room, one that doesn't involve wasting his time on a used-up, wasted nothing like him. 

'You needed help,' Dean says as though he doesn't understand the question. His hands are still resting on Cas' sides and he wishes he'd move them away, because he doesn't see why Dean should have to touch him. He's not worthy of Dean's attention or touch. He never asked for this, and he can't repay Dean for it. Not in any way that Dean seems to want. 

'You should have left me there,' Cas says, his voice hollow 'the world could do without one more hungry mouth – I'd have left behind nothing, who'd miss a dead whore?' 

'Cas, you're more than what you've done to eat. You had to do that stuff to survive. That doesn't mean you're not...it doesn't make you less....' Dean lifted his right hand to Cas' cheek, 'you can't think that stuff anymore, okay? You're a good guy, and life's gonna get better.'

Before Cas could think on any of it Dean had sunk down next to him and edged him into a kind of hug. He pressed his forehead against Cas', though Dean's eyes were closed. Cas felt the tightness in his chest ease. 

The front room has a sofa which Dean sets Cas up on. There's a table beside him and Dean's left him the TV remote, a drink and some chips in case he gets hungry. It's taken a few days to get here – a few small panic attacks, some hot, shame-inducing tears and a lot of pep talks – but Cas is finally sat in the front room watching a documentary about bees. 

Dean has been wandering around the house doing chores; moving piles of clothes, clattering in the kitchen, cursing at breaking noises. The commercials start after the bee documentary and Dean finally sits down next to Cas, giving a sigh of relief as he finally relaxes on the sofa. 

It's just been the two of them for a while, and Cas guesses Sam has gone to do whatever it is he does to earn money. 'Where's Sam been?' Cas asks as Dean gestures for the TV remote. 

'Oh you know, earning,' Dean says, taking the remote off Cas and flicking through the channels. He stops on some medical drama. 

'What's he do?' They both stare at the screen. A brunette pouts at a Doctor in cowboy boots. 

'Oh, er....I guess he...well it doesn't really....you probably wouldn't,' Dean looks uncomfortable. 

'You don't have to tell me,' Cas says. He's not sure if he means that. It seems wrong, Dean keeping this from him. 

'It isn't easy to explain, is all,' Dean says. The Doctor on the TV struts down the corridor sending nurses swooning off into patient's rooms. 

'Is it something to do with the revolution?' Cas asks. Sam had been reading him the newspaper sometimes. He knows the people want to revolt; he knows the students and workers are getting into a frenzy. 

'Nah,' Dean says. He turns to look at Cas, 'if I said one day I'll show you, would you believe me?' He looks earnest, and Cas finds that he does believe him. He believes him, and he trusts him. Cas nods and Dean slides along on the couch, 'Dr Sexy was sleeping with Janet, but Rita is jealous because he promised her he'd take her out on a date.' 

Cas wonders if Dean is winding him up, but his face is just as serious as a moment ago. 'Oh,' he says. Dean is engrossed in the show and so Cas takes the chance to study him carefully; the dusting of freckles across his cheek, the line of his jaw. Dean shifts along the couch a little more and now their arms are touching. Cas shifts his hand and his hand touches against Dean's. 

It seems like everything inside him has stopped working and the world freezes. Dean isn't just making him physically better, he's teasing out the humanity that he'd tucked away. But with it he's drawn out feelings, and they're feelings that he fears are misplaced and will never be reciprocated. 

On the screen Dr Sexy is stripping out of scrubs and then standing in a shower. He's rubbing his hands through his wet hair. Dean's fingers shift and entangle themselves with Cas' fingers. 

** 

Cas can go anywhere with Dean. He'll happily climb into the impala and walk around stores, help Dean with food shopping, go with him to visit the old empty houses he seems to like so much. It's the second Dean's out of sight that he panics. His brain will whisper that Dean will never come back, that he's realized that he doesn't want to be seen out in public with Cas. 

At night, at home, they sleep in the same bed now. As far as he knows Dean has never discussed it with Sam. Dean has never tried to touch him, but he'll leave his hands where they're put. Instead he lets Cas touch him – he just watches calmly whilst Cas' fingers explore his skin. Sometimes Cas will stop, startled, and Dean will whisper soothingly until he falls asleep. 

Dean really doesn't want to show Cas what it is that he and Sam do. He's already confessed they don't earn any money from it – the money comes from con-tricks and skilled thievery. No, they do something for the love of it, the goodness of it. Cas immediately wants to be part of it when he sees the way Dean's eyes light up at the mention of it, and how worn he and Sam are when they return.

'What we do is necessary, and it's _right_ but it's often really _dark_ , Cas,' Dean says softly, looking into Cas' eyes as though he can make him understand with those hazel eyes alone. Cas sighs because Dean doesn't think he can handle it, and maybe he's right. 

'You think I'll crumble,' Cas says, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. It's disappointment in himself. When did he become this weak? He's done terrible things to survive, and no one could have accused him of showing vulnerability, no one could ever have called him a victim. 

'Fuck,' Dean says softly, brushing a hand over his hair and resting it on the back of his head. He doesn't know how to make this okay. 

Sam gives a light cough; Cas jumps because he's forgotten that Dean's younger brother is there, and Dean scowls because he had too. 

'Cas,' Sam's wearing the expression he saves for very serious occasions. Cas often thinks Sam seems as though he has expressions he wears by rote, as though underneath he's very sad or perhaps doesn't feel anything at all. 'Dean's right...what we do is dangerous and weird. Even people who do it for years end up going crazy. It's nothing against you, it's just it's all really messed up.' 

Sam and Dean leave him alone, and three days later when they come back Dean is hurt. Cas takes in Dean's patched up arm, and the cut that curves from his temple into his hair. He feels guilty for assuming Dean thought he just couldn't handle it. 

He can see that Dean's tired, but Cas can't resist staying awake to curve his hands over the muscles in his shoulders, and trace down his spine when he turns on his side. 

'My life is complicated,' Dean whispers to Cas, in case Sam has fallen asleep in the front room where he might hear them and wake up, 'and things have never been simple, but this is simple...' Dean lifts his hand and strokes Cas' cheek. 'It's okay to be hurt, and it's okay to feel better again.'

Cas lifts his own hand to Dean's face and presses his thumb at the corner of his mouth as though he needs a guide. Dean's lips are flushed, soft and gentle once he kisses them. He slips his hand round the back of Dean's head and presses closer. 

When he pulls back Dean is looking at him with a mixture of lust and uncertainty. Cas can feel the press of Dean's cock against his stomach. He pushes their hips together and gives a small groan when his own hardness meets the friction of Dean's boxers. 

A moment later Dean is sliding down the bed and parting Cas' legs so that he can fit between them. Cas feels the shift of his underwear and his cock finally free of them. Dean's grips firmly on Castiel's thighs, a shifting shape beneath the quilt. Cas shoves the quilt back with his feet, wanting to watch. 

Dean's tongue slides around the head of his cock quickly before he wraps his lips around and takes it in his mouth inch by inch. Cas bites his lower lip and sits up a little, not wanting to miss anything. Dean's taken him in so deep that all Cas can see is the top of his head and then he's _humming_ , a deep vibrating in his throat that makes Cas bite his lip harder. 

Dean pulls his lips back and lets Cas' cock out of his mouth with a wet _pop_. He looks up, checking Cas' expression, that he hasn't taken it all too far – a blissed out expression tells him everything. He crawls back up Cas and presses their mouths together. Cas can taste himself when lets his tongue explore Dean's mouth. 

'Castiel,' Dean says into their kiss. There's a note of of need and it makes something in Cas' chest swell and his cheeks flush with pleasure. A while ago he'd have guessed it was need to be touched, to fuck him, but Dean's eased out some of that thinking.

Dean's kisses turn sleepy and Cas is happy to curl in against him, cheek on his shoulder. They stay that way for a while and Dean's breathing becomes smooth and rhythmed. Cas closes his own eyes to sleep but Dean has turned on his side and is pressing his crotch against him. They both open their eyes lazily and shift together anyway they can, against any angle of each other that offers friction. They each finish within seconds of each other and Dean wipes them both off on the bed sheets. 

Dean pulls Cas in to hold, pressing his chest to Cas' back and shaping his body around him. He kisses the pale, smooth shoulder of the man in his arms and smiles sleepily. 

'Night Cas.'

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the kink meme under a different title and anonymously.


End file.
